Let us give thanks

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. Of course as a child I always liked the idea of getting Christmas presents or free candy on Halloween but there was just something extra special about Thanksgiving. It was the only holiday that the entire Allen family as I knew it, came together in one spot. It was, for me the absolute embodiment of family. Growing up I never missed a Thanksgiving in Grandma’s kitchen. One of the saddest days I can remember was the fourth Thursday of November 1972, my first year in college. Not being with my family on Thanksgiving was a killer. I learned a valuable lesson that day about the importance of tradition. It is the only holiday that I claimed for our family after I was married. Somehow Ralph was able to grasp how important it was to me and played along. You can count on one hand the Thanksgivings that have not been cooked in my kitchen. Even the year I found my way back home from Texas, Thanksgiving was spent with my family on the floor of a furnitureless duplex. A few minutes of every Thanksgiving are spent in tears. Sometimes I’m not sure where they come from but I have learned to accept them as Grandma looking over my shoulder and nodding her head in approval that I have remembered the seeds she sowed in my heart.

I love everything about Thanksgiving Day. I love its premise of giving thanks and the history behind it. I love all the preparations that go into it; creating the menu, setting the table, cooking all those little extras the day before. But most of all I love the smell. There is nothing like the mixture of scents of a browning turkey with the cinnamon and allspice of pumpkin pie and the sassiness of cranberry sauce. As much as I recognize this holiday is about tradition, the Allen-Giannini menu usually has a little twist. It hasn’t always been that way. During the early years it seemed important that I keep everything the same from my childhood. Slowly but surely the old recipes began to share the table with the new ones. Sometimes that meant 2 versions of cranberries, potatoes or vegetables until I could reconcile leaving Grandma’s behind. Now the recipe search has become a part of my Thanksgiving anticipation. What shall I cook? How does that meld with what else is on the table in terms of sight, smell and taste? Yes, I love Thanksgiving. There is just nothing else like it; a day that is dedicated to food and family. What could be better than that?

Middle schoolers can even be cute

For months now I have been telling people how FUNNY middle school kids are. Very few of those people have understood that comment because they don't think the words middle school and funny could possibly go together. But it's the kind of funny that when you say something and the minute it's out of your mouth you know you shouldn't have said it because it's just dumb. Today was different. Today's funny was cute like first graders are cute. Here is just a snippet of my day.
After I handed back their first attempt at a 5 paragraph essay, it was a literal field day.
*One student called his revising work today "remodeling." But the greatest part was that I could laugh with him and go off on the metaphor of remodeling a house and say, "Like that?" and he said "Yeah, like that!"
*Another student said Ms. Allen I agree with your comments but how do I make this paragraph better? It was just funny that a kid would have the guts to say to a teacher "I agree with you."
*Then there was the student who had attempted to defend his position on playing video games by saying they improve finger work. He was very disappointed to realize that finger work is not a term that is understood by the over 12 crowd.
*But the clincher for me was when the kid ran into 6th period class yelling, Ms.Allen, we watched Oprah today in reading class. Yes it's true the reading teacher was playing the video of Oprah's school in Africa. He just couldn't wait to spill the beans.

My analogy for the day is kindergarten is to cute as 6th grade is to hysterical. This is one of those days that I would have worked for free.

The Mystery of Death

For the past few months the people around me have been confronting the loss of those they love. Death has always been a mystery to me. My first memory of death was my younger brother's drowning so it has always been extremely difficult for me to come to terms with the finality of it. People who were just here laughing and playing with me can be swept away in the blink of an eye never to be seen again. My response is almost always a feeling that begins with denial and quickly morphs into frustration, finally ending in confusion and leaving me hollow. I do not understand it. Sometimes death is as simple as never waking up from a night's sleep and sometimes it drags on for years in senility. It makes no sense. We come into the world so predictably and live the day to our day of our lives without incident. Most of us grow up, fall in love, get married, have kids and live the happily ever after. But for some it is different. Along the journey something changes. An accident. An illness. Then suddenly that life is on a totally different path and his/her loved ones try desperately to follow behind. But as our arms flail out to held them here on earth there is nothing that can be done to slow time. We don't get the last hug or kiss, the last shared smile or a parting word. They are simply gone. It is over. We hold on to our memories and carry the spirit of our loved ones with us through the rest of our lives. We speak their names to keep the memory of who they once were alive not only for ourselves but so they will never be forgotten. They were here. They changed who we became. They made a difference.

Weekend Procrastination

Ah. It is Friday night. It should feel like a weight lifted off my chest but what rolls through my brain is the 3 sets of papers I have to correct sometime over the next 48 hours. This is a funny little game I have been playing for the past 3 months. I am constantly searching for the balance between weekend work and play since I started teaching middle school. There are papers that must be graded in order to meet the deadline for progress reports that tell student's families their kids need to shape up before report cards go out in another 4-5 weeks. The picture in my mind is a series of hurdles on a circular track, one leading to another so it is never ending. Every weekend the work gets done and I somehow get my moments of play intertwined between the papers, the yard and the house. I tell myself I'll do them on Friday night and have the rest of weekend to call my own but I have yet to follow through on that internal promise. I usually end up doing a little work followed by a little play. One thing I have learned is that it is absolutely forbidden to correct and post grades on Sunday night. I did that once and will never repeat it. This is the time when I repeat over and over again the mantra of how much I love middle school. The reality is that there is a lot more paper work and it has to be handled in a timely manner. But I will definitely take that over crying children who would like you to tie your shoes while you're considering how best to correlate a unit on tide pools with research reports, putting away leveled books and wondering how to differentiate instruction in two digit multiplication. Five paragraph essays, here I come.

The Tao of Walking

Pooh and Piglet both have their Tao and on my way home today it occurred to me that it is time for walking to get its just due. I have always known that walking is a spiritual activity for me. When I do it alone it is the closest to God that I ever get. My brain dumps and becomes clear and the important things in life float to the surface. When I walk with friends we talk about the deepest things in our lives - our hopes and dreams, joys and sorrows. It has been more than a month since I really walked and during that time I have been in an unexplainable funk. The battle between being alone and lonely seemed to have been won by lonely. I blamed my new job for my inability to move off the couch, my sleeplessness, and my lack of concern for even the basics of housekeeping. I need to walk. This morning I went back and forth as to whether to bite the bullet and take a chance on walking. My morning routine went off without a hitch and there was no pain in my foot so I took a chance. I stepped out of the door, embraced the cool fog and couldn't help but smile. As I made my way up the sidewalk I could feel the weight of my world slipping off my shoulders with every step I took. I was able to focus on the day ahead, pray for my friends and family and take in the beauty of the changing season. What a difference between plopping in my car to drive to work, stopping every block for stop signs and watching for adolescents as I park my car. The walk home is even better. For some reason my pace in the afternoon is much slower and I see and feel everything. By the time I reach my door I am totally in balance. Yes, walking is my tao.

Addendum to Things I Love About Middle School

Sixth graders are not only obsessed with their looks but evidently everyone else's looks on the planet as well. I died my hair back to its somewhat original color over the weekend and I could not believe the comments from my students Monday morning. My favorite one was,"What did you do to your hair?" I guess that beats trying to figure out for yourself what is different. This was followed by:
Your hair looks darker.
Your hair looks fuller.
Your hair looks longer.
Did you dye your hair?
Now what I find extremely entertaining about this is that they didn't seem to realized that the blonde and red highlights that I covered up was also dyed hair.

Things I Love About Middle School

Beginning with the first day of school I started a list of things that struck me as being different from elementary school. With each one of them, there was always the observation followed with a sight smile and an "I like that." I initially began the list to give me something to say when asked. Why do you like middle school? Here it is as of this date.
Kids are only there for 50 minutes at a time.
There is a larger pool of teachers from which to gain knowledge and ideas.
I am a part of the outside world. I can actually see Jackson Street from my window.
I am a better teacher because I can focus on 2 subjects instead of 6.
The students are MUCH more independent.
There are fewer parent issues. Some days I don't even see, talk to or e-mail a single one.
The passing time gives me time to think and get focused on the next class.
The teaching of curriculum starts on the second day of school.
Entering grades is simple.
E-mail is my primary source of communication. I love that.
Preparing for class is mostly paperwork. There are no little books, or math manipulatives or things to put together.
There is no class picture on picture day where you have to identify the kids for the yearbook.
I don't have slow down to fit their pace when walking with them across the quad.
Sub plans are a breeze.
Doing report cards consists of clicking a number for comments and a button that says "Finalize Grades."
I can walk to work.
6th graders just say funny things. Every single day I laugh at something that is said in my classroom.
You can have a class discussion about important things.
They notice things that have changed - arrangement of furniture, things on the wall, the scent of an air freashner.
There is a greater distribution of the workload among the staff.
The sound of an orchestra, jazz band and choir
The joy of communicating with an adolescent and making a difference

You Just Have to Laugh

Twenty-four hours have passed since my most recent 2 hour stint at Kaiser. This time I was scheduled to see a rheumatologist. Imagine my surprise when a nurse practitioner walked into the room. She reassured me that I would be examined by her as well as the real doctor. So she asked me a bunch of questions, bashed my shoe selection and suggested getting arch supports for my shoes. She examined my foot and agreed that it was indeed swollen and bumpy and looked very goutish. She shared the x-rays with me and said that it did not appear to be bone related and thought that perhaps it was a tendon issue. That means we have now addressed ligaments, joints, bones and tendons. I think that covers everything. She left and returned a few minutes later with the rheumatologist in tow. He started off with an exam of my left foot. The thinking part of me quickly deduced that he wanted to see what the healthy foot felt like before examining the swollen one. He then examined the right one side by side with the left. He looked up and said, "Which one is it?" Something inside kept me from putting my shoes back on and walking out of the room. He talked for a while, pressed and prodded every inch of my foot, asked me a few questions, reviewed previous diagnoses and then admitted that he was just stalling because he had no idea what was wrong with my foot. He proceeded to give me some excellent information about rheumatoid diseases and then happened upon the idea of requesting my calcium and iron levels in yet another blood test. Don't ask me why but he seemed extremely pleased that he had thought of another test that I could take. We looked at my x-rays again and he pointed out some arthritis in my big toe, showed me my bunion and my very healthy joints. Then he suggested that perhaps there was a stress fracture and requested a second set of x-rays. He sent me off to get a new prescription for the drugs that were time released in order to reduce the side effects, a blood test and a weight bearing x-ray. I got the blood test and drugs with no problem. Then I headed down the hall to Radiology. I signed in and found a seat to wait my turn. Several minutes when by and I heard my name being called. But it wasn't a radiologist, it was the lady at the sign in desk. She apologized that I could not get a weight bearing x-ray there; those were only done in orthopedics. So I headed down to orthopedics and lo and behold it was now after 5 so they were closed. Fast forward to this morning. I called orthopedics to make an appointment for the x-ray and was told that I was mistaken and it was surely possible to get what I needed in radiology. She put me on hold and then admitted that, yes indeed I was correct. But unfortunately I was unable to get the x-ray without a request from the doctor. Next step was to call the rheumatologist to request the weight bearing x-ray. He called me back and apologized and said it wasn't necessary to get the weight bearing x-ray to check for the stress fracture so I could just go to radiology. OK. Now we're getting somewhere. Then a few hours later I get a call from the rheumatologist's nurse who has scheduled a weight bearing x-ray for me on Monday morning at 9:00. Huh? Does any of this make sense. You just have to laugh. So now I have seen three doctors all of which freely admitted they had no idea what was wrong with my foot, had 2 blood tests and will hopefully have 2 sets of x-rays. I have to admit that the anti inflammatory drugs are working to reduce the pain but the end result is that I still have a swollen bumpy foot.

Taking the Bull by the Horns

I am totally done with feeling wounded and a victim of pain. My foot hurts. It's a simple fact. Sometimes it hurts a little, sometimes a lot. There doesn't seem to be any sort of rhythm to it. It is almost always stiff in the morning but there is nothing else regular or predictable about the timing or degree of discomfort. I came to the conclusion tonight that I can no longer let it control my life. It will continue controlling my diet because of the crazy drugs but I can no longer sit and wait for my body to heal. Obviously it's not going to happen. I took great joy in going to the gym and walking on the treadmill. That is a safe place because no matter how far I walk I can easily get home. Walking clears my head. I discovered that on the treadmill I can focus more attention to my foot. I don't have to look at where I'm going and I can judge ever step I make. I can keep my body in better alignment and hopefully keep from messing something else up. I just feel too young for any of this to be happening. I have lots to do and most of them involve my feet. So I just have to get over it.

Getting My Sea Legs

Every now and then the bell rings ending first period and I feel ready to teach. This is usually after a 6:45 A.M. arrival and working non-stop through my first period prep. I'll finish up correcting papers, entering grades, browsing through my unit and figuring out the next few days of lessons in ancient history or writing and I'll actually feel like I'm at a good stopping place and can welcome the students. It always takes me by surprise because it is so rare. But today it happened twice - before AND after school. But as I walked out the door this afternoon I realized it's all a hoax. The feeling is real but in actuality it is my brain saying that I'm done for now. As I shut down the computer and made my piles on the desk, I realized that indeed I had much more to do. I could have started with lesson plans for Tuesday when we meet with the ELL consultant or made copies for tomorrow or read the introductory paragraphs my kids wrote today. There was any number of things I could have done. The brain is indeed a wonderful thing. It just seems to know when enough is enough. When you'll just be spinning your wheels. When you don't have the focus to complete any more tasks. The weeks are going by quickly and I know that with each one I become a bit more comfortable in this new world into which I have flung myself. There is so much to learn, so much to do.

Learning Patience

Following a bike ride on October 5th I noticed a little bump inside the top of my foot. Two days later, the area had swollen and was causing pain in my daily walks. I gave it a few more days and went to the doctor. Now a month later, an x-ray, a blood test and two mistaken diagnosis I am no closer to knowing what it it is than I was when it all began. It is the first time in my life that my body has not had the ability to heal itself. This has come as an immense shock and has become harder and harder for me to understand. I miss my walks terribly. They were a spiritual need as well as a physical one for me. It was the time I took to look back or forward on my life - literally and figuratively where I had been and where I was going. This pain is slowly but surely teaching me patience. It forces me to sit instead or walk or ride my bike. I now know by feet intimately and can compare them by touch rather than sight. I am beginning to understand how pain can effect your relationships. But this pain is also the bearer of many gifts as it has forced me to change almost everything I do. I focus on my diet, have given up alcohol and caffeine, eat 3 meals a day so I can take my anti inflammatory drugs with as few side effects as possible. I am aware of every step I take with an emphasis on distributing my weight evenly on my feet. That in itself has become a spiritual awakening. I am forced to stay in the moment and develop a consciousness of each and every footprint I leave behind. I step and feel and evaluate what the next step will be and how I will take it. Then I repeat the process all day long every day. Yes. I am learning patience with myself. I have no idea if there will ever be a solution for whatever this is but for now I am more aware of this moment than I have ever been before.

Coming Back

I have had a recurring thought the past few months about the need to come back to my blog. It has been a long long time and much has changed in my life since I last wrote to the world. I have a new job and have completely remodeled my house so all aspects of my daily life have been turned upside down. I try to remind myself that I like change but it could be that I have crossed some imaginary line. I am having great difficulty finding my bearings but perhaps that is just what I needed. I am learning the value of silence and just sitting. Sometimes I just sit and feel absolutely no pressure to DO anything. I can just feel who I am and where I am in the moment. Then suddenly it's another moment and I can feel that one too. And pretty soon a lot of moments have gone by and I have had the pleasure of feeling each and every one of them. That is a place I have never been before. I fight the guilt that often follow these moments and reassure myself that it much be what my spirit is in need of. I miss my old existence but don't seem to have the energy to reclaim it. So for now this is where I am. Sitting. Feeling. Breathing. Knowing that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

Boys Are Cool

I am well aware that I am writing this post to avoid writing my good-by letter to my class. With that acknowledgement in mind, I will proceed.

Little boys are totally cool. With my move to third grade also came an increase in emphasis on mathematical and critical thinking skills. Up to this point in life neither of those have been my forte but it seems that boys exceed in this area. I have enjoyed getting inside their heads all year and figuring out their thinking strategies. An 8 year old can explain these things in terms that I can understand so it has been a great starting place for me. This is not to say that I like my boys any more than my girls. I am just a little mystified by them because they function so differently. Today was our Reading Buddy picnic. We were very clear in our agreements that they did not have to spend the entire afternoon with our first grade buddies so by 1:15 the 3rd grade boys had taken off on their own to explore the sandbox area. It wasn't long before they were discovering ways to build tunnels and then interconnecting tunnels and finally little underground villages. I was fascinated watching them with the full length of their arms underground. This of course meant that their head (including their ears and hair) were plastered agains the sand. They discovered things about how deep you have to go to keep the sand above stable, the reason that the sand beneath remained cool and wet, ways to use water to suport the underground structures and strategies to cooperate to build those connecting tunnels. What were the girls doing? Swinging on the swings, rolling down the hill, chatting, laughing, kicking around a soccer ball and repeatedly shouting, Miss Allen, come look at this. You just gotta love those boys.

Editorial

An editorial in the paper struck me today. Not just because the topic was STAR testing but because it was written by Dale Jones, a Cupertino principal. Here it is.

Every year at this time I commit what I consider to be professional malpractice. As a school principal, I like to think that my bottom line is what's good for kids, but each year as I oversee the annual ritual of STAR testing, I become further convinced that it's not only harmful to kids, but it's damaging to the institution of public education as well. If I was a doctor and was asked to oversee a procedure that to the best of my knowledge was harmful to my patient, I have to believe that I would resist. So I have to ask myself, is my relationship with my students that different?
Should I not resist a practice that all of my professional training and experience,
as well as my conscience, tells me is wrong?

My school is an English Language Development (ELD) center for our district. This year we have students from over 35 different countries who speak more than 28 different languages. One day in the middle of our two week window for STAR testing, one of our ELD teachers called me on the intercom just before recess because three of her students hadn't finished the section of the test they were taking that morning. They'd been testing for more than an hour, forced to take a multiple choice test in a language they're just beginning to grasp, and they had to continue testing through their recess, because if they take a break they might talk about the test and violate the strict security measures surrounding STAR. I went and sat in the classroom so the teacher could have her break, which of course she's entitled to and deserves, but which, for at least that day, is denied to these students who sit struggling with words they haven't yet been taught, after having been given directions that must be read verbatim that I'm certain they didn't entirely understand.

I feel only guilt as I watch these conscientious young children struggle todo their very best. While their persistence is admirable, I also wonder if part of the reason they try so hard is because they believe that I want them to do well on this test, when what I really want is for them to randomly bubble in the rest of their answer sheets so they can go outside and be children again.

We spend two weeks on STAR testing at our school. I remember taking similar tests as a child of the same school system. I think those tests were probably an hour or so long. Like many of my peers, I was much more interested in sports than academics for much of my childhood, so I'm sure my performance suffered as it grew closer to recess. Now we give a test that totals more than 360 minutes in the second grade! We spread this out over several days, but do we really believe that testing fatigue doesn't impact the validity of the results? More importantly, what message does it
send to our children when we devote this kind of time to a test? It's no surprise to me that many of my students feel that school is essentially over after STAR testing. We may say otherwise, but they can tell by not only the time but by the entire "testing milieu" that this is the most important thing that we do. It's the only time when the gardeners aren't allowed to use the mowers or blowers, and every possible interruption from fire drills to field trips is not allowed to infringe on testing time.

I know that I live and work in a community that has placed great value on the results of these tests. It's disappointing to me that a valley that prides itself on innovation and ingenuity has so easily been duped into believing that STAR scores are a valid indicator of the quality of our schools. Even the psychometricians who create multiple choice tests admit that they're a poor tool for evaluating what a student knows. They're designed to rank students, and schools, based on a superficial measurement of a very limited range of knowledge and skills. Higher forms of knowledge, such as evaluation and synthesis of information do not lend themselves to assessment through multiple choice tests, neither do creativity, communication skills, physical abilities, musical and artistic talent, etc., etc. This is why some critics of testing have rightly cautioned that if your child's school's test scores rise rapidly there may be more reason for alarm than anything else, as it's very likely that an over emphasis on STAR results has led to a narrowing of the curricula to that which is tested, in both content and quality.

Parents are often surprised when I tell them that the results of STAR have little to no instructional value. The security surrounding the tests prohibits teachers from viewing their students' tests, so there is no opportunity for error analysis, or even to know which questions most of your students answered correctly and which ones they missed. In educational jargon we call a test that guides future instruction a formative assessment, but there¹s nothing formative about STAR. We don't even receive the results until the following school year.

As a principal in Cupertino, it's of course anathema for me to speak out against STAR testing. We take great pride in our test scores. They keep our home prices high, so high in fact that our teachers can't afford to live here. But I also believe that it's precisely because of our elevated test scores that we have an obligation to speak out against them. Wouldn't it send a great message if one of the highest ranking districts in the state collectively admitted that our scores are really a reflection of the demographics of our community and the educational level of our
parents, and that the test scores really don't reflect the true quality of our
schools? Or are we afraid of what a deeper and more reflective look at our schools might reveal?

I have colleagues in other districts who can't speak out against STAR testing for fear of losing their jobs, and most of them work in our most challenging schools and are routinely "beat up" for their low test scores. We can pull them up, and in the long run help ourselves, by educating the public about the limitations of STAR scores and the many alternatives that do a much better job of measuring how much our children have learned, as opposed to what they innately know.

It's time for teachers, administrators, and parents in "high performing" schools and districts to speak out about the fallacy and danger of using only test scores to evaluate our schools, to educate the community about the injustices of ranking schools and the harmful effects it has on "low performing" schools. It's time to end our complicity with a system of measuring students and schools that amounts to educational malpractice.

The Universe Is In Charge

I love being reminded of how powerless I am to control people or events in the big scheme of things. Last October I received a notification from the sheriff that my old Saturn had been impounded. My name was still on the title as the lien holder because I sold it to a friend's daughter. Well, since that time the friend walked out of my life. I tried to do the right thing and contact the party involved so my name could be taken off the title and any further legal notifications. Unfortunately she chose not to answer my phone calls or e-mails. So I just let it go. Literally. I never thought about it again knowing that when the time was right the problem would solve itself. So yesterday I came home to a folded up note stuck in my front door. The first thought that went through my mind was that it was an angry neighbor complaining about my newly adopted dog. To my relief I read that SS wanted to transfer the title. Yes, everything happens in its own time. We just have to be patient and allow the universe to handle it.

Unfair Testing

I have never been a naye sayer to testing. We all need some sort of assessment and evaluation procedure. I'm not saying that I should be evaluated based on these numbers but testing is just part of the job. Today is day 3 of testing. We made it through the practice test and the first reading test. Of course this includes the "trick" question on the practice test on equivalent fractions AND the fact that there are 14 versions of the test that require different directions. They go something like this: If you have versions 1-8 you will begin on page 12 #29 and work through page 17 and #41. If you have version 9-14 turn to page 8 #12 and work through page 11 #28. You have got to be kidding me. These are 8 year old children we are talking about. We actually got through that pretty well on Part 1. Then we had Part 2 this morning with similar directions. For some reason it was much more difficult for them to understand today. Maybe they just thought it was a one time thing and they survived it yesterday. After recess they had Part 3 and as usual I sat down to read the test. That's when I started taking notes on "Important things to teach next year." Let's see there were questions on interrogatives, exclamatory statements, articles (there are actually only 3 of them in the entire English language - P-L-E-A-S-E), homophones, the meaning of bi in bicycle, and lots and lots of stuff on syllabication. I guess my greatest complaint is the distraction of the phrasing of questions. They are required to read a big long passage and then the first question might be about the correct syllable division of a word within the text. These kids are ready to answer questions about the main idea or how a sentence could have been worded better and they have a question about dividing the word animal or the key words on a dictionary page for kite. They may call the text they read an article, a passage or a story. We are just not testing skills. We are testing question interpretation and test taking ability. There are even questions that I don't really know the correct answer to. One of the questions was on a folk tale about a lamb who tricks a wolf. The sentence in the story was something about a "lake through the trees." The question asked for the phrase that would give more details about the trees and here are the answer choices: woods, forest, tall green things or oaks and pines. Now I think the answer is oaks and pines but if one of my kids was writing about a lake through the trees you better believe I would conference with them if they wrote a lake through the oaks and pines. Do oaks and pines even grow in the same place? I don't think so. Personally I like "a lake through the woods" Thank God I'm the teacher and don't have to take the test! Well tomorrow we have 2 math tests so we'll see how they can confuse my little darlings in the world of numbers.

Some Good News

Finally! Some good news! Today the superintendent called together all the kindergarten teachers and told them we were going back to 20:1 in kindergarten through 3rd grade. Yahoo! We can finally stop dressing in red and attending school board meetings. The parent and teacher speakers can go back to normal life and the school board members can stop squirming in discomfort. It seems that the superintendent "found" some "one time only" money that will fund K for the next 3 years and he promised to maintain it after that. So he finally took a stand. I am hopeful that this is the his first step in creating his own vision for the district. Another Yahoo! I can't ever remember being so happy for other people in my life before. Our K teachers can now go back to loving their jobs and taking pride in their work. That will be a wonderful thing. We have been so desperate for some good news that this feels almost foreign. My stomach and head are both spinning. HOORAY!

Negativity

While I can be whiney from time to time I'm really not a negative person. As a result I've been pretty astounded by the negative energy in and around our faculty room this week. It started off between a couple teachers and it just seemed to spread. One thing led to another and at the end it seemed we were working with middle school adults. Who else makes the loser sign on their forehead, rolls their eyes and shares it with their best friend while in the midst of their co-workers. I don't really understand the mean spiritedness of it. It's kind of like me trying to grasp the idea of going to war. I don't get it? How can you be do things like that just because you don't "like" another person? We're all grown up and yet there is this childishness that abounds. So today was the day for apologies and bringing flowers to those who were hurt. I truly do admire the courage it took to follow through on those actions. But now the guilty party is totally embarrassed and depressed about her behavior and has removed herself from the faculty room. So we have traded disrespect for isolation. Both of them seem equally painful to me. While I know intimately about the need to remove yourself from people around you to sort through the actions of your life, (after all I'm the one that ran away to Texas) I'm uncomfortable with my inability to bring everyone back together again. Sutter is a close staff. We are a small group of people so anyone's absence is noticeable. There is a hole that can't be filled without everyone's presence there. We define ourselves by who we are as a group not as individuals. As a result I have written an e-mail to the staff hoping to create a change. I am hopeful that it will lead to some deeper thinking and that those who want us to be the best we can be will respond and begin the conversation. So here is the letter:

It is an understatement to say that this has been a rough week. Feelings have been hurt. Apologies have been made. And now we are at that awkward stage of wanting to forgive and move on.

Sutter is an amazing place. We are a staff that is social as well as professional. It is clear that we enjoy each other’s company. People notice it the minute they walk in the door. Stand outside the faculty room and what you will usually hear is the sharing of funny family stories followed by loud belts of laughter. Watch us as we return to class and you will see the last remnants of smiles on our faces before we lead our classes in the joys of the –at word family, finding the least common denominator, or discussing the causes of the Revolutionary War. We are a dedicated staff. We love our jobs and each other. We cannot have one without the other. As educators, we are involved in the most difficult of professions and need each other’s support each and every day.

We have created many close friendships and have supported one another through some difficult times. But like any other family we have our strengths and weaknesses, our funny little quirks and we try hard to love each other despite it all. It is time to open the door a little wider to be sure that everyone is included in this family called Sutter. Each and every one of us must be respected, supported and valued as an integral member of the family. Yes, it has been a rough week. But hopefully amidst the hurt and forgiveness we have learned some new things about one another and ourselves. Hopefully our Sutter family ties have grown stronger with a deeper respect for one another. It is time for us all to forgive and begin to move on.

Joan

Ten months ago Joan lost her 19 year battle with breast cancer. But what she left behind is an amazing legacy. I miss her terribly. While she and I were not close freinds she touched me deeply and changed me forever. She was a model of fighting for what you believed in no matter who stood in your way. She surrounded herself with the beauty of our planet and became know as the garden lady. She was the one who every year took charge of the school garden. So this year it was imperative that the garden be kept running in order to honor her memory. I don't often step up to take charge of things but this one was an easy call for me. What could be better than hanging out in the garden and embracing Joan's memroy. So yesterday I made my way to Summer Winds, asked for a school garden discount and set about to become Joan's partner in the garden. She was definitely present through the weeding, the composting, and the careful selection of the poppies that could be sacrificed to make way for the strawberry and tomato seedlings. She sat on the bench and kept me company during the digging, the patting, the smoothing and the watering. It was good to spend time with her again. And today as I walked by and marveled at the beauty of those sturdy plants soaking up the sun I felt her once again watching over the garden and all who love it as she did. Thank you Joan for all you gave to us. Thank you for showing us the beauty in the natural order of life. To everything there is a season.

To everything - turn, turn, turn
There is a season - turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven

A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep

To everything - turn, turn, turn
There is a season - turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven

A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones
A time to gather stones together

To everything - turn, turn, turn
There is a season - turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven

A time of war, a time of peace
A time of love, a time of hate
A time you may embrace
A time to refrain from embracing

To everything - turn, turn, turn
There is a season - turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven

A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time to love, a time to hate
A time of peace, I swear it's not too late!

Spring!

While we have had a few days here and there where the thermometer passed the magical 70 degree mark and teased us into believing that spring was here, it looks like the real thing has come to stay. There is nothing quite like it. It happens every year and every year I am awed by the changes in me and my view of the world. Winter, mild as it is here in silicon valley, has once again been overpowered. The earth has turned ever so slightly and the sun burns away the fog, the cold, the rain, the clouds. The ground begins to warm and the unseen magic occurs before our very eyes. While pulling weeds is far from my favorite thing to do it brings me into direct contact with the spring mud that holds the magical mysteries. The worms. The bugs. The shoots waiting to burst forth. As the weeds are wrestled from the ground beneath, you feel the resistance as the roots pull back. It's almost like they are begging you to let them stay in the womb of mud they have created. With the roots come the mud that is attached. As it is knocked off you see and feel the differences in the layers of soil that have all come out together. The browns, the grays, the blacks. Out come the worms and they quickly find their way back into the soil to the home they are constantly recreating. The aphids pop in and out wondering what is causing this grand disturbance. Every now and then a snail is uncovered and the new found friendship my class has helped me foster with these creatures keeps me from tossing it over the gate. And above you, you suddenly become aware of the birds and the insects that are signally the auditory signs of spring. What could ever be better than this? Your own dirt becomes one with your skin, slides under your fingernails and becomes a part of your very being. I am reborn.